


JWP 2019 #15: Insanity is Relative

by methylviolet10b



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Implied Watson whump, Insanity is what you make of it, Other, Prompt Fic, Triple Drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-29 08:43:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19826581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/methylviolet10b/pseuds/methylviolet10b
Summary: Watson doesn't understand. Written for JWP 2019 #15.





	JWP 2019 #15: Insanity is Relative

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: I have absolutely no idea where this came from. Probably makes no sense, but then again, given the prompt, that's not entirely surprising. Written in a huge rush. You have been warned.
> 
> Quote prompt: “Insanity is relative. It depends on who has who locked in what cage.”

The sitting room was cozy and cheerfully decorated. The sun shone through the open windows. Tears dripped from the walls, their salty dampness adding to the chill.  
  
“It’s a contradiction, isn’t it John?” Mary asked as she poured out. The liquid from the teapot was thick and red, and steamed slightly in the air.  
  
“I don’t understand,” I confessed as I took the cup and saucer she handed me. The bone china was thin, almost translucent, and decorated with my own handwriting. All the stories I had ever written about Holmes, all the notes from every case: they were all there, whole and entire, held in the palm of my hand.  
  
Mary’s smile was gentle, kind. She wore her wedding dress, white, decorated with tiny blue forget-me-nots. She had embroidered each one herself. She had tea-dyed it later, but the flowers remained blue. The fabric had somehow reverted to white. “You rarely do, dearest. Not when it comes to him. Or yourself for that matter.”  
  
As if conjured, I saw Holmes’ reflection in my teacup. He was drawn and pale, his eyes sunken from lack of sleep and care. His voice, when he spoke, was as worried as I had ever heard from him. “How long will he be like this?”  
  
I did not know the answering voice. It seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. “That is up to him.”  
  
My hand shook, and the image vanished.   
  
“Have a care, John.” Mary’s blonde hair gleamed. Her eyes were so blue. “It wouldn’t do to spill. Not when you have so far yet to go.”  
  
“Am I going somewhere?”   
  
Mary’s answer echoed that unknown voice, also seeming to come from more than just her mouth. The teapot cracked, sending red liquid seeping all over the tea-tray. “That’s up to you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted July 15, 2019.


End file.
